


My version of an end

by GiveThemARest_WaitNo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demonic Possession, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiveThemARest_WaitNo/pseuds/GiveThemARest_WaitNo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working on a case Dean gets posessed and forced to torture Sam.<br/>From earth to heaven and some more...<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Black smoke rushes down Dean's throat, tasting like bitter bile.

Bitch!

He was so definitely going to get that tattoo redone.  
If he only had been less busy since he got out of purgatory. Again.

But the bitches kept on coming, making it impossible to find a minute to protect himself against some - low-rank - demon looking for a new rag doll to play with.

Although he knows the only way to get rid of his wanna-be jockey is an exorcism, he can only try desperately to cough it out of his air ways. It merely results in a sore throat.

Don't let it take you over. Just make it to Sam. Just keep in control.

Already, he starts feeling the darkness around his soul, pulling tight. His vision blurs and only one thought remains.

Run.

Moving has never been this difficult. Every one of his directions to his limbs is opposed by an absurdly strong order to freeze.

Immediately, his confused muscles start to burn but he keeps on moving, fighting against the increasing pain. He feels that invading shadow laughing at him.

Yeah, what a joy ride to purgatory. Son of a -

His throat constricts. No air for his already tortured brain.

Plan B. Fucking Plan B.  
With shaking fingers and increasing tunnel vision, he starts drawing a pentagram in the dirt, placing himself at the center.

With just one line to go, his sight turns black. Little dancing dots are mocking him.

His brain is screaming at him. Not to fight - but just for one breath. Blindly he thrusts his arm forward one last -


	2. Chapter 2

All of those victims destroyed what they loved. That is their connection.

They made a deal to make it stop, not to get rich or laid. One smashed his Lamborghini into pices and the last one almost tortured his girlfriend to death.  
Sam rushes out of the hospital. He needs to find Dean. Now.

It’s the crossroads demons themselves.  
They possess the victims and torture them to make the deal – a deal for them to stop destroying their lives. They go straight to hell and the demon looks for the next prey.

Damn.

Why did Dean have to go ask the crossroads demon about the deals? Straight into the fire. That sure is their kind of luck.

Luckily, the hospital is not far from the crossroad where they found those poor bastards’ boxes. Dean isn’t there.

Sam crouches down inspecting the ground. The loose sand and gravel are muddy from the light but steady rain. Anyway Sam finds some still visible trails. He follows the one on top of the older ones.

\-----

Sam is on his way. He has to be.

Dean’s intakes of breath are shallow but his lungs rejoice anyway. He trembles from the previous effort of running and from the cold sneaking through his damp clothes.  
His eyes are open, even though he feels like he hasn’t slept in weeks. Which might actually be true.

The sound of footsteps. Someone is coming.

“Sam, wait! It’s that crossroad bitch!”

Sam stops dead. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis-"_ He sinks to his knees with a garbled yell, obviously in too much pain to speak.

Dean can feel the demon twisting Sam’s guts. How can it possibly be that strong? He checks his pentagram which is almost entirely gone.

The rain. It seems to be his lucky day.

He desperately wants to stop the demon but there is no way he can control the demonic mind powers that have Sam writhing in the dirt.  
All Dean can do is watch while the demon approaches his brother on the ground.

It is stronger than he thought. It seems as if it has let Dean run this far.

Now Dean’s muscles won’t move an inch, no matter how hard he tries. All he can do is make them burn some more.

When it speaks, the voice sounds raw. “Hey there, Sammy. I was just on my way to you. How nice of you to come and greet me.”

\------

Sam stops convulsing and manages to get his feet back under him. "... _omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te..."_

Dean – the demon – smiles viciously at him.

"... _cessa decipere humanas-"_

Sam gasps when, once again, the air is knocked out of his lungs, making it impossible for him to talk. He finds himself on his knees when he finally catches his breath.

The demon crouches next to him.

“It’s rude, y’know. I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

The demon pauses and runs his hand down Sam’s back with casual strokes. Sam keeps quiet, gathering strength for his next attempt to exorcise it.

“See, I already know what your job is.”

It pulls a hunting knife from Sam’s jacket pocket.

“But I never really told you what I do for a living, did I?” With one move of the its hand, Sam finds himself flat on his back, unable to move.

“Well, since you’re asking. I started as a common crossroad demon.”

He inspects the knife closely and tests its sharpness on Sam's shirt, swiftly cutting it open across his chest.

“Then the regime changed and this Crowley guy ordered us to get more and more deals done in order to stay outta hell.”

Sam’s follow the hovering knife with growing unease.

“Now, around here people are content. So I had this really neat idea. I just had to find the one thing in their lives they’d make a deal for and make them destroy it.”

\-----

Dean feels the knife in his hand smoothly cutting through the skin of Sam’s upper arm. Sam grits his teeth and groans.

Dean mobilizes all strength he has left to get his arm to retreat. His own voice booms through his head.

“I wouldn’t do that, Dean. See, I’m really good with a knife but if you keep struggling you might catch a major artery or something when we get to the interesting parts.”

Focusing all his contempt on the smug curl of black smoke in his head, Dean pulls the knife out of Sam’s arm. The cut is bleeding heavily.

Dean’s triumph only last for seconds.

\------

This time the knife comes down quickly, rips Sam’s jeans and buries itself deep inside his leg.

Were he able to, he would clutch his injured leg and wait for the pain to subside but nailed to the ground Sam can only yell in surprise and hope for Dean to take over again.

Despite Sam’s prayers the demon stays and twists the knife as if it were trying to get the last bit of peanut butter out of a jar. The pain is white-hot fire and it spreads down his entire leg.

He tries to concentrate on a spot where there’s no pain. A new movement of the blade inside his limb cuts previously undamaged tissue, sending his muscle into agonizing spasms.

Sam doesn’t know if it is Dean’s or the demon’s torture skills, but every cut and stab hurts worse than the last. Every time he screams he thinks it can’t get any worse.

Apparently, it can.

When the blood briefly clears from his eyes he sees Dean’s face blank and bloody. His eyes are wet. Tears are running down his cheeks, clear water with mixing with Sam’s blood.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean doesn't stop fighting. Even though it hurts. His brain keeps frantically searching for a way out. Just a way to save Sam would be enough. 

Miraculously, the demon puts the knife aside and turns its attention to its host.

“You know what you have to do to stop it, don’t you, Dean?” 

To Dean's even greater astonishment it retreats into the back of his mind, leaving him in charge of his body. 

Immediately, he falls to his knees next to his brother who shifts slightly now that he is free to move again. 

Something in his mind clicks. It wants to make a deal!

“I ain’t gonna try kissing myself, dumb ass!”

Dean feels the demon emerging again, ready to continue the torment.

“Wait!” 

Dean makes a grab for the knife which is still lying next to Sam where the demon left it. His fingers barely touch it before the demon yanks his arm back.   
With all the strength he has left, Dean presses his body down to the ground where it can’t hurt Sam. 

It works. The demon hasn’t fully regained its control yet and he can block its attempts to move. 

“Sam, now!” 

Sam sits up with a groan.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus; omnis satanica potestas, omnis uncursio...”

Dean feels the resistance against his conscious effort to keep on the ground get stronger.

“Omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo te draco...”

Nothing happens. Deans grunts. He can't hold it for much longer. 

“Hurry, Sam!”

Sam speeds up his words but when he finishes Dean is still barely managing to stay put, his muscles tense to the point of ripping.

“Damn it, Sam! Get the knife.”

“No.”

Sam obeys anyway. 

Dean’s muscles give in. With a violent jolt that slams through the length of his body, the demon wins.

Sam!

\----

Within milliseconds his brother is gone. 

Sam knows, the minute the demon starts torturing him again, Dean will make the deal. So everything comes down to one ugly decision. 

Heaven or hell. 

Sam can’t afford to think twice. Quickly, he rises up, putting most of his weight on his good leg. 

The demon turns and liquifies Sam’s insides with nothing more than a flick of its wrist. Sam doubles over in pain but manages to stay on his feet. 

One step... 

Blood spills out of his mouth and the ground starts spinning. The demon laughs and the fact that it is Dean’s voice makes it even crueler. 

Sam tumbles forward and thrusts the knife into his brother's heart. 

He loses his balance, slips in the pool of his own blood. He hits the ground hard but he doesn't feel the impact. 

Everything is numb and cold. 

\----

It is the first time in hours that Dean allows himself to relax. 

After the tremendous effort of distracting his oppressor at least temporarily to give Sam a chance to kill it, his and the demon's screams are bliss.   
His body jerks uncontrollably and he tells himself, this is the last thing he has to endure. This is neither as bad as being forced to torture Sammy nor as bad as going to hell.

A few final moments of agony and then...


	4. Chapter 4

Someone is stroking his brow. He relishes the gentle touch and finally opens his eyes. 

“John!”

His father enters the room and puts his arm around Mary, who is sitting at Dean’s bedside. 

“Dad? Mom?”

Dean sits up. All of the sudden, he feels like it’s Christmas. Real Christmas – not have-some-booze-and-watch-the-game Christmas. 

“We were worried. You slept for days! Are you hungry? There are some pancakes left.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, Dean.”

This is no memory. His mother looks exactly like he remembers her. She hasn’t aged at all. His father on the other hand doesn’t look like Dean remembers. He is clean-shaven and he looks … happy. How the hell does one act in a situation like this? 

John nods approvingly. 

“Not that I wanted you to make the move to heaven this soon but I’m glad you’re here. And you should try those pancakes.”

\-----

In the kitchen Sam is standing in front of the oven, a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other.

“You can make pancakes? Why haven’t you discovered that ability earlier? Then I wouldn’t have had to – Hold on. You’re here. I suppose, you’re not my imaginary pancake-cooking heaven-Sam, are you?”

Sam flips the pancake. “No. Last thing I remember is killing you, so I’m probably as real as it gets.”

He failed again. He got his little brother killed – again. 

“Dean, I killed you. I know you. And I need you to know: I don’t blame you.”

Of course that is the thing Sam has to say in this moment, but if Dean hadn’t been so stupid to summon that crossroads bitch, he would still be alive.

“Yeah. I know. It’s not like we didn’t have this conversation a thousand times.”

Dean grabs himself a pancake and starts chewing on it. It might be the best pancake in heaven but Dean doesn’t taste a thing. 

“Damn it, Dean.” Sam sits down, facing him. “Haven’t we done enough? There are so many hunters left on earth. What the hell, maybe earth is even better off without us riding it into new catastrophes on an annual basis.”

Dean doesn’t listen. It’s too much. He can’t deal with this much at once. Killing his brother, dying himself and family life?   
What is he supposed to do? Cook fancy food and go on family trips to the beach?

John comes over and pats Dean on the back. 

“I see. We all need some time to adjust. Why don’t we go to the shooting range?”

\----

Much to Dean’s surprise they had a really good time at the range. His mother is one hell of a shot - better than his dad.  
Back at home, they sit together, drinking beer and watching the night sky.   
No one says anything. Finally it feels right – being a family. 

When all their bottles are empty, they go to bed. 

Dean doesn’t sleep. Too many thoughts in his head. All that joy of having found a place where he can retire for good, it’s almost drowning him. 

In the back of his mind there remain all the bad things he has seen. All that things that don’t allow him to relax or to feel safe because any minute something horrible might happen.   
He is not naive enough to believe that heaven is a safe place.

Surely, Sam can’t just shake off all those nightmares, either. In the room next to him Dean hears him groaning. Will the bad dreams ever stop? 

A low rumbling noise followed by a painful moan from the room next door makes Dean crawl out of bed to check on his brother.

Sam is lying on his bed. Arms and legs spread wide and blanket on the floor. His eyes fixed on the opposite corner of the room in horror. 

Dean crosses the door’s threshold and freezes. There is a shadow sitting at Sam’s bedside, affectionately stroking Sam’s shoulder. 

“Hi there, Dean. I didn’t think you were desperate enough to hide in heaven.”

Before he can even think of grabbing a weapon he is being thrown against the wall. Not able to move an inch, Dean follows Sam’s desperate gaze to about three feet to his left. 

“Mom!” he chokes against the weight on his lungs. 

Mary is hanging on the ceiling next to him. The cruelest form of a déjà vu, he is sure. 

“Don’t you-”

Dean’s weak words turn into an agonizing scream when Mary bursts into flames.


End file.
